Cris d'aveugle

Blind Man’s Cry

Translation

(To the Low-Breton tune Ann hini goz.)

The murdered eye isn’t dead
One point which glances yet
Nailed down without coffin I lie
They’ve shoved the nail into my eye
The nailed eye is not dead
And the point pushes in yet

Deus misericors
Deus misericors
The hammer beats my pate of dross
The hammer that will raise the cross
Deus misericors
Deus misericors

The undertaker tresh
Are then scared by my flesh
My Golgotha’s not done with me
Lamma lamma sabacthani
Doves sent out here by Death
Thirst more for my flesh

Red like a porthole’s hide
The wound is on the side
Like the gum all froth and foaming
Of a toothless granny smiling
The wound is on the side
Red like a porthole’s hide

Circles of gold I see
The white hot sun bites me
I have two holes pierced by steel
Reddened in the hearth of hell
A circle of gold I see
The flame up high bites me

In the marrow now twists
One whole tear that exits
I see what in paradise is
Miserere, De profundis
In my skull it now twists
Sulphur in tears that exits

So lucky a good dead
The saved dead in his bed
Happy the martyrs elect thus
With the Virgin and her Jesus
O so lucky the dead
The judged dead in his bed

A Knight there outdoors
Sleeps without remorse
In the most blessed graveyard
In his sleep like granite hard
The man of stone outdoors
Two eyes without remorse

Hey, feel you as before
Yellow heath of Armor
I feel my rosary, I would
And the Christ of bone on the wood
Yawn to you as before
O defunct sky of Armor

Forgive my praying hard, Lord
If this is my reward
My eyes, flaming holy water stoups
The devil put his fingers to
Sorry for screaming hard, Lord
Lord against such reward

I hear the north wind mourn
That bugles like a horn
It’s the mort for those who’ve left off
I howl for my turn enough
I hear the north wind mourn
I hear the post of the horn

Tristan Corbière (1845-1875)
© Alex Rodallec

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